


Breathe Me, Shatter Me

by Rasiaa



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 07:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12476532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rasiaa/pseuds/Rasiaa
Summary: It's hard to watch them beat him down, without knowing what they're doing. It hurts so much sometimes that he can hardly bring himself to get out of bed, so when that happens, he had nights like this to hold himself together.





	Breathe Me, Shatter Me

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted: 6-24-2015  
> I wrote in my original author's note that "I tried to make it as vague as I could" and I'm sitting here today like, okay. Wow. I grew the fuck up.  
> Reviewing old work is sometimes the funniest thing. I've posted a lot of my old stuff on here and I want to rewrite this one in particular, just to expand on it, since I'm absolutely obsessed with Merlin and Alexander Vlahos at the moment. <3 (Have you seen him on Versailles? Hot damn. Watch it. Right now. 10 episodes on Netflix and if you're one of the lucky ones in the UK or France, you can get season 2, as well. I haven't seen it yet so don't spoil it.)   
> Okay. Done talking. Enjoy!

Sometimes it hurts more to watch the injuries occur than to actually receive them.

It's a difficult lesson to learn. It's one he learns as he watches Emrys and the king and the knights. They abuse him in the worst of ways, so cruel in their happiness and their protectiveness. He wants to scream and yell and cry like a belligerent child, that Emrys doesn't need their coddling and their protection and their soft words that cause more pain than a sword ever could, but then he thinks of the disappointment that would reign in Emrys' eyes and so he just smiles at them instead, just like Emrys does. They way he always does and always will do and has done for ten slow, agonizingly painful years.

He doesn't understand how Emrys does it. How he gets up every morning and doesn't hate them for everything they do, everything they say. He plasters on that smile that just tells of his falsified idiocy and hides all of his pain and his hurt. Mordred wears that same façade because he's done it his whole life and has no other option. But Emrys could tear them to pieces if he wanted to and there would be not a single damn thing they could do in response.

He hears their words and wonders why Emrys doesn't care to break them and shatter them as thoroughly as they have shattered him.

…

_Have you ever thought about using your power for something other than Arthur?_ He asks Emrys one day, and Emrys freezes momentarily, his hand hovering over Arthur's dulled sword before he resumes his task of sharpening it. He doesn't reply verbally, but then, with all of the other knights also in the armory, Mordred hadn't expected him to.

_Was there something you wanted?_ He questions instead of answering directly, and Mordred has to take a moment to feel stunned and blown away that Emrys would offer. A wave of happiness and love for the man in front of him leaves him breathless. Gwaine shoots him an odd look and he recovers himself, unclasping his gauntlets and setting them down. Emrys doesn't look at him once, but he's okay with that.

_No, not particularly_ , he replies, busying himself with the clasps on his armor just to stay in the armory while the rest of the knights begin to file out.

Leon claps him on the shoulder and leaves, and Gwaine pauses long enough to say, "We're heading to the tavern tonight, and I expect to see the both of you there!" before he walks out. Neither Emrys nor Mordred acknowledge him. Mordred only has eyes for Emrys as soon as the door closes behind the knights.

With the knights gone, Emrys waves his hand and the stone sharpens the sword in only a few moments. Mordred marvels at the impressive wordless magic for only a second before Emrys backs him against the wall. "Not particularly?" he repeats, his voice hardly louder than a whisper. He runs his lips over the edge of Mordred's jaw in breathy kisses, leaving Mordred with very little brain function for several seconds.

His hands drop to Emrys' waist and pull him closer, which makes Emrys laugh a little against his skin. "Not here," he mutters, kissing Mordred's mouth before he pulls away entirely. "Tonight," he promises.

Emrys collects the king's armor and leaves Mordred standing there, leaning on the wall to support his weak knees and alone to mourn the closeness of Emrys' magic.

He could drown in that power and be perfectly happy with his death.

…

The next day, he very nearly does. For whatever reason, Emrys decides to allow him to link their magic, resulting in a deeper mental link that has Mordred stumbling around in a drunken daze whenever he's alone. Being surrounded by the protective magic layered on the castle- all Emrys, of course- doesn't help matters.

"What's gotten into you?" Elyan asks, giving Mordred a look. It takes him a moment to register that someone even asked anything, and then it takes him another few seconds to summon to will to leave the link that Emrys has granted him. Elyan looks considerably worried by the time Mordred returns to reality enough to formulate an answer.

"Nothing at all," he lies, tasting the words on his tongue and hating the way they feel. He's grown to hate lying as much as Emrys does. "I suppose I'm just distracted today."

Gwaine intervenes, materializing from basically nowhere, even though Mordred knows that's not possible for someone without magic. "I'll say. I nearly took young Mordred's head off in training today," he tells Elyan, and Mordred feels shame and embarrassment overcome him as Emrys nudges his mind gently.

_You all right?_ He asks.

Mordred swallows. _I'm fine. Better than fine._

Emrys comes stumbling down the corridor, a basket of laundry in his hands as he passes them in the hall. He catches Mordred's eyes and sends him a flickering smile, one that would shows playfulness to anyone else, but only shows Mordred how exhausted he is. The king must've gone on another rampage.

As if Emrys hears his thoughts, which he might've, Mordred acquiesces to himself, Emrys turns the corner and Mordred continues his patrol with Elyan, Emrys whispers as he does so, _I'm okay. I love you._

And doesn't that just floor him every time. _I love you, too, Emrys_ , he mutters in return, and he can feel a sudden pulse of joy through their deeper bond.

_I'll talk with you later, love_ , Emrys says, and Mordred doesn't bother to reply.

…

Mordred hears a knock on his door long after he feels Emrys enter the hallway where Mordred's rooms reside. He mutters a spell, _ddatgloi_ , under his breath and hears the blot unlock on the door. The door swings open and he turns, pulling his nightshirt over his head to meet Emrys' disapproving glare. "What if it wasn't me?" Emrys asks quietly, gathering Mordred into his arms and pressing a kiss into his dark, curly hair.

"It was, though. I could feel your magic," he replies, just as quiet. He feels Emrys sigh above him before the man guides him back to the bed, presses him into the mattress, kissing his face the entire time he moves. Mordred breathes in the sensation of having his lover so close, a rarity.

Mordred follows Emrys silent commands willingly, allowing Emrys to straddle him on the bed. Emrys runs his hands down Mordred's chest and pauses at his belt, flicking his bright blue eyes to Mordred's in a silent question. He nods, and Emrys continues, pulling on the nightshirt until Mordred pulls it off. Emrys undoes his belt with deft fingers and Mordred feels his heart begin to race as arousal courses through him.

Emrys grins and starts trailing kisses from his collarbone to his hips, holding himself up slightly to allow Mordred to kick his trousers off. Emrys, that bastard, avoids the place Mordred wishes he would touch the most, instead pressing open-mouthed kisses down the inside of his thighs and back up again, all the while tracing abstract designs onto his hipbone. He pants and leans his head back, staring at the ceiling, tangling his shaking fingers into Emrys' dark hair.

It's not often they get nights together like this, and so Mordred relishes the feeling of Emrys' lips on his skin like sparks, of the heady feeling of magic in the air. He knows these are the nights that Emrys thinks of when he can't bring himself to get out of bed in the mornings, or when the king and his knights beat him down and depression overwhelms him. Mordred knows, because he does the very same thing.

He gasps when Emrys finally gives him what he wants, wrapping a hand around him while Emrys leans up to kiss his mouth. He kisses back weakly, more focused on what Emrys is doing with his hands, and then he can't focus at all as his brain short-circuits in favor of showing shattering stars. Emrys laughs into his mouth and pulls away. "Mordred," he says simply, and so he reaches up and wraps his arms around Emrys' neck. "You will be the death of me," he sighs then, and leans down for another kiss.


End file.
